


Hurt and Alone

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:16:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sam off at college, and John on a hunt of his own, Dean stumbles onto a case that has more than he bargained for. A simple case-fic of Dean hunting alone, getting hurt and ruminating on his conflicting feelings about Sam being away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt and Alone

The Impala’s low rumble came to a halt in front of a rundown highway motel. One of the fluorescent lights was flickering under the hazy winter sky as the car clicked, letting its heat off into the bitterly cold air. With shaking hands Dean opened the door and all but fell out of his beloved “Baby.” He somehow managed to keep upright, while he swore and limped to the motel room, leaving a slowly trickling trail of blood behind him. He didn’t have time or energy to clean up and he could only hope the forecast of snow tonight was correct, so some rookie cop wouldn’t come knocking on his door, wondering where all that blood came from. He also thought of the Impala, and how much of a bitch it would be to clean the interior--if he made it to tomorrow.

Pushing the thought aside, he pulled out his key and it took him four tries before his shivering fingers could unlock the motel room door. He immediately slumped down onto the floor once the door was closed and he was out of the chill winter air. It was cold inside the motel room as well, but bearable, and he had a lot of work to do if he was going to survive tonight.

He took a breath and did a quick check of his injuries as he pulled the first aid kit out from under his arm. Bullet wound in his right thigh with no exit wound, which meant he had to go fishing for the metal object as soon as possible; a horrible throbbing on the entire left side of his face, a gash across his abdomen that was the cause of most of his blood loss, and several bite marks along his right arm that were still slowly leaking blood. He tried to breathe in through his nose and out of his mouth to calm the shaking in his hands and opened the first aid kit.

He first found the bottle of whisky and drank three huge mouthfuls of the burning liquid. The pain was close to being unbearable, as close as a Winchester got anyway. As far as injuries went, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

But this time he was alone. No one to patch him up, no one he even knew for miles, and calling 911 was completely out of the question unless he wanted to wake up in handcuffs. Bullet wounds are an automatic call to the police in most states and he couldn’t take the chance. The worst part about this whole ordeal was being alone. He would never admit it, but it wasn’t only the extra pair of hands he needed, he wanted someone to reassure him everything would be alright. Sam had been off to college for 6 months now and working alone became a necessity sometimes, now that it was just Dad and him. Dean didn’t think much of it usually, but his father had been especially secretive lately, so they had gone their separate ways on cases more than once now.

Working without Dad was fine, but it still felt strange without Sam. Dean would never say the words out loud, but he missed his little brother like crazy. He knew Sam had to go and be his own person, he respected it, almost looked up to it in a way, but he also felt like he lost a part of himself. This was the longest he had been without Sam since he carried him out of their burning family home when he was just four years old, when Sam was still in diapers. The life, the hunting, it had taken a toll on his little brother, more than Dean would actually like to admit, and there was a piece of him that was thankful he “got out.”

Sam had the possibility of a normal life now, of a family, house, white picket fence, the whole shebang, and even though Dean could understand his longing for that life, he also didn’t know how he could leave his family behind. Dean was angry that his little brother didn’t care about getting revenge for their mother’s death, it was always the mission, and since he learned about his father’s “job” when he was still a child, he burned with a rage for the thing that took his mother, and his old life.

But Sam never felt it, even when he started to hunt, _and he was so good at it_ , he never felt that anger in his belly that Dean and his Dad always shared. At the root of it all, on the floor of the dirty motel room in the cold, with the chance of dying tonight, Dean had to admit he was jealous. He was lonely and angry and hurt but most of all he was insanely jealous that Sam could leave all this behind. That Sam could have a normal life.

He prioritized his injuries quickly in his mind and fumbled in the first aid kit with a slightly more steady hand. He could feel the whisky burning in his stomach and it warmed him slightly as he began to work. First, he lifted the old shirt that was covering the gash on his abdomen and checked the damage. It was long and deep, going from just above his right hip to above his belly button. Nothing major was nicked but it was still bleeding more than he wanted to admit. On another person, he would have been able to stitch the cut up neatly, but the position was awkward at best and his shaking frozen and bloody hands made handling sutures impossible. Instead, he cleaned out the wound with a hiss, beating his sore fist on the dirty motel carpet against the pain. He then packed it with layers of gauze and wrapped tape around his entire torso 3 times to hold it in place. It wasn’t pretty, and he would have a nasty scar when it healed, but at least it would stop most of the bleeding, he hoped.

He leaned his head back on the door when he was finished and tried to catch his breath against the pain. The room spun slightly, he was exhausted, and lost a lot more blood than he liked, but he wasn’t done yet, he couldn’t let himself fall asleep until the bullet was out of his leg. He heard his father’s barking voice in his head like a drill sergeant and got to work.

From the first aid kit he pulled the forceps, peroxide, gauze, and more tape. He tore his jeans apart easily using the hole already made from the bullet and exposed his swollen thigh to the chill air. He then poured whisky over the ends of the forceps and took a deep breath before gingerly inserting them into his leg where the bullet entered. His face twisted in pain and he groaned while searching for the metal object deep in the flesh of his leg. Each movement sent lightning bolts shooting down his leg and up into his hip, but he steeled himself and continued.

He finally felt the bullet and tried to grip it with the forceps, but his head swam and nausea bubbled up in his stomach. When the tool slipped and his fingers and failed to catch the bullet the pain overwhelmed him, he leaned to his side, and emptied his stomach on the floor, feeling the burning of the gash on his abdomen with every subsequent dry heave.

He dizzily tried to remember the last time he had eaten, _yesterday morning at the diner?_ _Maybe some coffee or chips after that?_ He wasn’t sure, but there was nothing in his stomach but whisky, bile, and blood. He spat and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, realizing how bruised his knuckles were in the process. Then he sat up with a wince and went back to work. The forceps slipped twice more before he finally gripped the slug and carefully pulled it out of his thigh.

He breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t know he’d been holding in, and the shaking started again. The concentration had made him sweat and the room was still cold, especially on the floor leaning against the door to the outside. He realized all at once how cold he had become but he quickly cleaned out the wound on his thigh, packed and taped it. It was a really messy job, but his hands were barely cooperating when he was finished. They trembled so hard the glass of the bottle clinked against his teeth when he took another swig. He slithered out of one arm of the old coat and then the flannel shirt he was wearing and poured peroxide over the bite marks on his arm, they weren’t very deep so he felt hopeful they wouldn’t bleed too much through the night, he couldn’t afford to lose any more blood.

His hands dropped to the floor, and with his last bit of energy he leaned to the other side to avoid the pile of his own vomit as he passed out in front of the door, the whisky bottle somehow landing in the upright position as it wobbled on the floor.

He dreamed of the hunt.

\--

It was snowing lightly when he arrived to town, and ate breakfast at the diner on the highway. The news article that led him to Northern Minnesota was about six missing people and how the remains of one was found recently in an old barn outside of town. The monster had left only bits of hair, some teeth, and skin scraps so there was no need for Dean to head to the morgue. Instead he got the latest information from a gossipy middle aged waitress whose cousin knew the first of the missing people.

Small towns were so much easier for the job.

She told him with sad eyes that the young girl went missing after a party in one of the apartment complexes next to the community college. Dean took down the address and began his research by talking to everyone the missing victims knew. In these moments, he really missed his brother. Sam was better at this part of the job, the families of victims, and Dean could have used those puppy-dog eyes more than once when hurting family members slammed the door in his face after an insensitive question. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle this part of the hunt, but he just didn’t have the talent that his little brother did when dealing with people. He wanted to be direct, he wanted to get the information and get out of there. Sam was always better at really connecting to people, and when he did their information always spilled out like water. 

It didn’t help that Dean knew all of the missing people were long dead. If he was right about it, and he usually was, this was a ghoul and they barely left any parts of their victims behind. He also knew they lived in underground places and ate their victims slowly, so he assumed it was more than one. But he did have questions. _How did the pieces of the second victim end up in a barn? And why so many people in such a short amount of time? Where they hording the bodies somewhere?_

These were the questions that were driving him, but above all else, was where to find the things? He had dealt with ghouls before and as nasty as they were, they were also very easy to kill. These specific creatures had a pattern, they seemed to lure young people away from parties, so he had to assume it was also taking the shape of a young person, probably attractive looking.

Finally, after talking to four out of six families he found out about another party going on near the community college that night.

He didn’t have much time to get ready, so he packed his gun, and a silencer for the pistol and headed out. The building was a set of rundown apartments at the end of a cul-de-sac, with a few small houses, and sprawling woods behind it. Dean parked the Impala a few blocks away and confidently walked in. It was loud in the basement apartment, some top 40’s music that Dean didn’t recognize, and the people were packed in tightly, flopped over every piece of furniture, dancing, and drinking twenty different kinds of alcohol that was splayed out on the kitchen counter.

Dean went for the whisky, decided against it and munched on a few chips from a bowl. He moved the bottles on the counter and hoisted himself up to sit, having a pretty good vantage point of at least the kitchen and living room where most of the people were.

Once he was comfortable he started scanning the room for the ghoul. He didn’t really have any ideas what he was looking for. Ghouls weren’t known for crashing house parties, they were most often solitary creatures. He chatted up a few girls, but wasn't able to keep the conversations going long while he was working, and they soon drifted off to find more attentive men. 

He listened idly to conversations for about an hour before anything suspicious happened. When he spotted the group he instantly knew he was wrong about it being ghouls.

There were six of them, all a little too old for the college campus scene, and they stuck out like a sore thumb if anyone had bothered to pay attention. All of them wore similar clothing, the two girls in black tank tops and the four guys in plain black t-shirts and jeans. But it wasn’t their age or clothing that set them apart from everyone else. They had a cool air of power about them that the hunter naturally picked up. It was a confidence that they were the strongest people in the room and they knew it without a doubt. The way they scanned the room, just as Dean did, but they weren’t looking for monsters, they were looking for prey.

The smiles that showed on their faces, the mutual understanding when they found a perfect victim. All of their eyes converged on one girl at the party, obviously drunk and happy, doing shots with two guys.

 _Damn it_ , Dean thought and slipped out into the hallway before they could spot him.

Vampires.

There were a lot of things a single hunter could take on by himself, but a nest of vampires, even a small one of only six, was not one of them.

But he also couldn’t let them take another victim tonight, first and foremost in the hunter’s mind was always the innocent people around him. He needed to end this party and fast without tipping them off to his presence.

He kept an eye on the group from the hall and made a quick phone call to his Dad. It went straight to voicemail, awesome. “Dad, its Dean, it wasn’t a ghoul like I thought, it’s a nest. Small one, only six of them. I am on their tail. Call me.”

He hung up quickly and looked for a distraction. Then a small smile turned the corners of his mouth when he saw the fire alarm. He pulled the handle nonchalantly and he rushed out of the building’s only exit; he needed to be out of there before the nest saw him, and he needed to see them leave so he could follow them. His mind raced while he waited for them to exit the building.

This group was different, he could tell, not only by the way they moved but by the way they killed. The pieces of the victim that were found in the barn had to have been a mistake, but did they eat the body? Or did they leave it for the scavengers to consume. Or worst of all, did they know a hunter would find them, and try to throw him off the scent?

Suddenly he wished he would have went to the morgue to see the bits left over of the victim, but maybe he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a ghoul and animals anyway.

These vampires had killed six people so far, in a week and a half, and he was determined for it to end tonight. He had the supplies he needed with him so when they flew out of the building’s door and piled in a grey van, he was ready to follow them.

The Impala wasn’t exactly the most discreet car, but he learned long ago how to follow someone on the road without being spotted. Keeping the van just within eyesight, he tailed them through every turn, and finally out onto the farm roads outside of town. He knew he couldn’t face them alone, so the only plan in his mind was finding out where they were holed up and getting in touch with someone who could help him.

But somehow, he knew at the back of his mind that his Dad wasn’t going to call back, Caleb was in California, Bobby lived much too far away and he didn’t know any other hunters that could get here before they would inevitably kill again.

A plan started forming in his head as he drove, it was a stupid plan, and he probably wouldn’t live through it, but he could not let these monsters take another victim, not while he was here to help them.

The van finally turned down a dirt road to a camp site labeled “Chestnut Camp.” The sign’s paint was barely legible from age, so he guessed the site hadn’t been in business for a while, which made it a perfect place for the nest to stay while they were in town. Dean waited for a full three minutes before pulling onto the dirt road after them, then immediately drove his protesting car into the woods at the side of the road. He would have to follow on foot from here if he didn’t want to be seen, _Sorry Baby, you will have to sit this one out._

He quickly broke some branches and covered the car, checking two times and adjusting them so he was sure no one could spot the car from the road. Then he opened her trunk and took out all the things he would need. Machete, crossbow, pistol, three vials of dead man’s blood, gasoline, rope, a thermos of coffee he had filled at the diner during breakfast, and his cell phone. He poured one vial of the dead man’s blood onto a rag and wiped the tips of five arrows for the crossbow. He popped out the clip of his gun and doused the machete, as well as the bullets. Sending up a small prayer that they wouldn't damage his gun too badly. The last vial he put in his pocket and zipped up his coat against the cold Minnesota air.

He hadn’t paid much attention to the weather, but this morning on the news, he saw that snow was on its way. He just hoped it would hold out for a while.

He walked only two miles down the dirt road before he heard faint music coming from one of the cabins. He saw the van parked outside and spotted a gnarled oak at the edge of the property.

He silently stalked through the woods behind the cabin and was grateful for the years of training in the woods with his father and Bobby.

He was no lover of outdoors, but he felt confident in his abilities in the woods. The hours he had spent building shelters, learning to fire guns and arrows, and his training in tracking had all come in handy more than he would have guessed during his hunting career.

He reached the tree and climbed it easily, looking for a vantage point where he could see the entire property. Once he got comfortable he tucked in for a long wait. Vampires stayed with their pack for the most part, but if he had any chance winning a fight with them he first needed intel, and then to find a way to get them separated so he could take them out one by one. Night had fallen long ago and as far as he was aware, they hadn’t fed yet, which would make them weaker and a bit more grumpy.

He peered through the cabin windows and cataloged each of their faces to make sure there were only six of them. So far he recognized the brunette woman from the party, one bearded man and another skinny one. As the hours went by he also saw the blonde man, the black haired woman and the last man with a ponytail. He was relieved to see only the six of them in the cabin and felt a bit more confident. He sipped his coffee in the freezing winter air while he waited for something to happen, anything to get them separated.

At first they danced, then paced, and he even thought he saw them argue a few times, before the sky finally started to lighten slightly in the east. He waited impatiently, settling in for a few more hours and the morning sun blared onto the snow, making it harder for him to see what was going on inside. He guessed they might be asleep for the day, which would mean Dean had more time to find another hunter in the area. He checked his phone and made a few quiet calls with no luck.

He hadn’t even heard from his Dad in days.

Dean’s muscles felt tight and he shifted in his hiding place. He had been sitting in the tree for hours now. He was thinking of giving up and trying to torch the cabin with all of them inside, it was a terrible plan because it was so unpredictable, but he had had worse.

Then suddenly, the bearded man slammed open the door to the cabin and stalked off almost directly toward him. Dean tensed, he could feel his heart speed up and adrenaline rush into his limbs, warming them slightly. When the man passed his tree, he stealthily crept down and followed a few yards behind him. The vampire was angrily grumbling to himself as he found a tree and unzipped his fly to take a piss.

Dean didn’t hesitate, he swung the machete with all the force he could muster; the monster’s head cleanly flew off, thudding on the frozen ground. Dean's head snapped around when he heard a woman’s voice from behind him and he scrambled behind the nearest tree.

“Aaron don’t be like this, we are all hungry, let’s just have a good sleep and—Oh god!” The black haired woman stumbled upon his headless body next to the tree and Dean wasted no time, he was afraid of her calling to the rest of them, even though he wasn’t sure if she would be heard though the music still blaring from the cabin. He swung the machete as he came from around the tree but she was fast and he only managed to cut her arm in the process. She turned with lightning speed and shoved him back, the machete flying out of his hand. She was on all fours in an instant, teeth bared and hissing so Dean could clearly see her fangs dropping down over her human teeth.

She rushed him and sunk her teeth into his arm before he kicked her off with both feet. The fabric of his coat was thick, but not enough to stop the fangs biting into his skin, and Dean could feel the blood drip down the inside of his shirt as he scrambled to get up. One on one like this with a vampire wasn’t the smartest way to go, but Dean knew she had gotten a bit of dead man’s blood in her from the machete so he only needed to stay alive for the next minute or so before he would have the advantage.

She rushed him again, this time picking up the fallen machete and slashing it in the air in front of him. Dean jumped back but not far enough, she was too quick and managed to slice the skin on his abdomen in one swift motion. Then, just as her eyes began to gleam when the blood started to flow out of him, she wobbled slightly and her knees buckled. Dean kicked the machete out of her hand as she tried to catch herself before hitting the ground, the dead man’s blood finally getting into her system.

Dean wrapped his arm around his torso to try and stop the bleeding and he picked up the machete, now covered in dirt and dead leaves from the winter ground. He groaned as he sliced off her head and felt the pain shoot through his stomach, then hurried back to the oak tree to retrieve the crossbow he had left there. He knew it was only a matter of time before the others came to look for him and he wanted to pick them off with the arrows before he got into another one-on-one with any of the creatures.

He ducked low behind a tree in front of the carnage he had just created and tried to catch his breath. He didn’t have time to look at the cut on his stomach but he didn't think it was too deep, he was losing more blood than he would have liked, but he would live--at least for the next few hours, without medical attention. He wheezed in the cold air while he waited and prayed they would hurry.

Finally, the sun rose to high noon and he could hear two male voices calling their friends from the distance.

“Let’s go guys, the sun is up, we need a good night’s sleep before tomorrow night!” Dean positioned the crossbow square at the chest of the first man and fired as soon as he had a clear shot. The arrow hit home and the man went down, instantly gurgling when the dead man’s blood entered his system. The other vampire, the one with the ponytail, yelled for his companions in the house as he ducked behind a tree, which gave Dean time to reload the crossbow. Even with his stiff fingers in the winter air, he was ready to fire in seconds and peeked out from behind the tree to where the vamp was hiding. Their eyes locked onto each other, and Dean steadied his gaze. He could see the viciousness in the creatures eyes, even from yards away, and he swore he could even ear the small click of his teeth descending as he smiled.

Dean smiled back and put his finger on the trigger while the vampire darted toward him with inhuman speed. Dean released the arrow a half a second too late and it only scraped the creature’s arm as it flew by him and embedded itself neatly into the trunk of a tree. Dean twisted carefully out of the way at the last second but the vampire was fast and sunk his teeth into Dean’s arm, close to the first bite from the black haired woman.

He gripped the creature’s arms and let him suck his blood for a couple of seconds before the vampire went limp because of the dead man's blood; relaxing his jaw enough to release Dean from its grip. Dean quickly grabbed the machete and with a grunt lopped off the heads of both vampires within a minute.

He stood for a second in the quiet night air, realizing the music had stopped coming from the cabin. _Damn_ , he thought and tried to catch his breath, again gripping his torso where he was still freely bleeding onto the ground.

He had no time to waste before he ran out of consciousness, and the two remaining vampires knew he was out here.

He had no choice but to take the fight to them and hope it ended quickly, before he passed out from blood loss.

He let go of his abdomen, tossed the crossbow on the ground, and grabbed his pistol. There was no need for silence anymore and his gun would do just fine with the bullets soaking in dead man’s blood. He stalked up to the cabin in a matter of minutes and steeled himself before kicking the door open. He aimed his gun at the first body he saw and fired, taking the brunette girl down with a head shot.

Then there was pain exploding from his thigh as he saw the blonde man fire his own gun. Dean gasped and dove behind a counter close to the entrance as he heard the man fire off another three rounds. They went back and forth, missing each other until both clips were empty and neither man had any more fire power. Dean leaned his back against the counter, trying to form a plan when the blonde creature grabbed him by a foot and dragged him out from behind the cover.

Blows rained down on Dean’s face faster than he thought possible as the vampire straddled him and shrieked with a bestial voice. Getting hit over and over again, Dean could barely make his mind work. He could feel consciousness leaving him and the only thought he had was that his Dad would be pissed he had let this monster get away.

Then he remembered the last vial of blood in his pocket and reached for it in between blows. He let the vampire hit him twice more before he got an opening and he shoved the vial into the blonde’s mouth with a satisfying shattering when it exploded on his teeth. The vampire spit the blood and glass over Dean’s body before falling onto the floor with a loud thud.

Dean took a few minutes to clear his head, trying to remember how to breathe through the pain in his face. His left eye was already swollen and he doubted he would be able to see much out of it in a few minutes.

He squirmed out from underneath the blonde vampire’s body and limped to the machete, hacking at the necks of the last two vampires. It took more than three swings to separate their heads from their bodies this time, Dean was weak and tired.

He would have loved to start the walk back to the Impala and drive home as soon as possible, but he couldn’t leave the mess at the cabin for the police to find. It took him almost an hour to drag all the bodies back to the cabin, cover the blood outside with more snow, pack up his weapons, and set the place on fire. The warmth of the fire begged him to stay, but he turned to the dirt road and started the two trek back to Baby.

His leg was on fire with every step, the bullet wound bleeding sluggishly down his leg as he walked and the cold air was the only thing keeping him going. He tightened his arm around his torso again, half to stop the bleeding and half to keep himself warm. His ears had long since gone numb in the cold, and he hoped the sun would peak out from the trees on the long walk back.

About halfway there, the adrenaline had long since wore off and his exhaustion tore at him. The lure of sitting down for a rest was enchanting. But he called on the memories of his Dad’s commanding voice again and imagined Sam holding him up as he limped on the dirt road.

Even when alone, his family was the only thing that kept him going until he felt the cool leather of the Impala’s seats beneath him.

\--

When he woke he had a terrifying moment of not remembering where he was or how he had gotten there. A hunter always woke up with full awareness of his surroundings, able to defend himself at the slightest hint of a threat. But the pain and fogginess stopped Dean from performing those functions for a few minutes.

He finally pieced together what had happened over the last few days and dragged his sore body back into a sitting position in front of the motel room door. His head spun and pounded at the same time, and it took a moment for him to get his bearings. Every muscle in his body screamed with pain and he allowed himself a moment of self pity when he looked at the state of his body.

He was covered in blood, both his own and the vampires that he had slaughtered at the cabin the night before. _Night?_ Maybe the day before, after he cleaned up from the hunt it was afternoon and the sun was setting around when he finally stumbled back into the hotel. His leg was on fire and his abdomen ached with each small adjustment. The smell of his vomit, blood, and dirt filled the room and made him gag slightly. He needed to get off the floor.

He reached for the whisky and swallowed a few mouthfuls, letting them settle in his stomach before trying to get up. He steeled himself for the process and willed the pain away as he lifted his sore body up off the floor. He made his way to the bathroom and carefully stripped off the rest of his torn and bloody clothing before running the bath. He knew there was no way he could stand for more than fifteen minutes and soaking in a hot bath sounded wonderful, despite the inevitable bleeding the water would invoke. While the tub filled he removed his bandages and checked out the two major wounds. The cut on his stomach was clean and dry, the bleeding had stopped some time ago and he was grateful. The bullet wound on his thigh, however, was warm and throbbing, leading Dean to think he might be getting an infection.

He cleaned out the wound again with grimace and taped it with waterproof bandages. He then made his way to the first aid kit, sitting next to the pile of vomit on the floor from the night before, and fished out two antibiotics, swallowing them dry and then gulping water straight from the bathroom sink until he thought his stomach would explode.

When the tub was halfway filled, he gingerly stepped into the scalding water and lowered himself down carefully. He leaned his head back against the tub and let the water wash away the dirt and blood that seemed to coat every inch of him.

He sat and thought of nothing but the pain for a long time while he washed his hair and drained and refilled the tub a second time. Then when he felt mostly clean he let his mind wander to what Sam was doing, feeling half angry and half grateful that Sam wasn’t with him right now. He knew he was being selfish, but Dean couldn’t let go of the feeling of being betrayed by his younger brother. _What if I would have died tonight? Would Sam have cared at all?_ The bitter thought made Dean cringe, the pain and loneliness was getting to him, making him unreasonable.

The fact that Sam was safe was the most important thing to him right now; he had to reassure himself of that fact. Sam was out; he had a life of schoolwork and studying instead of guns and blood.

Dean felt so conflicted, he let the thoughts float away and wondered what happened to his Dad. _Did he get my last message? What will he say when he learns that I went up against an entire nest of vampires and survived? Will he be pissed, grateful, proud?_ Dean smiled when he thought of the story he will be able to tell of the past few nights, he felt like a hero, a stupid hero, but a hero nonetheless.

 _Fuck those evil sons of bitches, six more down._ Dean started to feel the water get cold again and knew the motel didn’t have any hot water left for him to keep soaking. Plus the cut in his abdomen was starting to bleed again so he lifted himself out of the tub with a swear and swayed dizzily for a moment before being able to make his way to his bag and rummage for some clean clothes. He left a note on the motel room door telling the manager to charge him for another night on the stolen credit card and climbed into the springy bed. He was starting to shiver in the cold again before he slipped back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of things chasing him in the night.


End file.
